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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583472">Canary in a Cage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rosecolouredglasses'>rosecolouredglasses (orphan_account)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempted Murder, Distrust of Most Men, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hatred of Women, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Murder, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader is a detective, STRAP IN FOLKS, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:33:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rosecolouredglasses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A rattling of chains against the door made one of your heavy eyelids flick open, looking blearily at the door. The other fluttered but couldn't open with how swollen it was. </p><p>	His little canary liked to sing, as he would say. </p><p>	Before you could sit up to accept your fate, you were blinded by the light filtering through the doorway. That wasn't right... He never came before night. You must have really pissed him off. </p><p>	"We have someone alive over here! Where's the medic?" </p><p>	Your head could barely lift, you felt so heavy, and there were so many figures in your vision. One got close, and you feel a warm hand smoothing something wet away on your cheeks. You had started to cry without even realizing it.</p><p>	"My name is Agent Malcolm Bright, and you're safe.” </p><p>             ————————————————————————————————</p><p>	You jolt back into the present, dazed. Your hands are trembling. You feel the knots in your back acutely, the scar on your face itches, the bags under your eyes feel like they just deepened. What a terrible day it was for him to show up.</p><p>	“M-Malcolm?"</p><p>	His eyes widen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Blanchard/Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo &amp; Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Passerine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Songbird, also called passerine, any member of the suborder Passeri (or Oscines), of the order Passeriformes, including about 4,000 species—nearly half the world’s birds—in 35 to 55 families. Most cage birds belong to this group.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Typing away at your desk was not exactly the ideal way to spend your weekend, but work is work, and these reports have to get finished. And what would you be doing anyway? Sitting on your couch watching TV, unable to focus as your past demons come to whisper in your ear? No thanks. Work is safe. Work is grounding. Gil asked you to be part of his team because you're a hard worker. Although he probably understood that your work was the only thing keeping the threadbare cardigan that was your sanity from unravelling altogether. But that's beside the point. You're getting distracted. You rub at your face tiredly, pushing up your glasses to rub under your eyes on the scar. You run your fingers over it absentmindedly as your eyes glaze over. You had wanted cat scratches as a teen-- It was edgy and cool. You only wish you had a choice in the matter. Ceramic against the metal of your desk makes you jump a little in your chair, hand falling from your eye, causing your glasses to become askew. The figure is blurry until she pushes your glasses back up your nose. You smile up at your friend, settling back in your seat and snatching up the cup of black death she had made for you. </p><p>"I don't understand how you drink it with that much sweetener but no creamer." The woman leans against your desk, her arms crossed and a perfectly shaped eyebrow raises as she smiles back at you. </p><p>"Well, Officer Powell, <em>someone</em> happened to use all of the french vanilla creamers. So a bajillion packets of Sweet n’ Low will have to do.” You shoot back at her mirroring her expression before you both snicker at each other. Your coworker pats you on the shoulder as before she walks back to her desk to get to work. You set down the cup after a solid chug, shaking your head and patting your cheeks to keep you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed— as if you ever were. Even before… You shook your head once again to get that trail of thoughts away. It wasn’t one of those days you could pretend to go about your business and not think about the Cage or about the Keeper. Your hand twitched, raising to rub at your scar again. You physically pushed it down with the other, looking at your desk with a low, deep breath and an impassive stare.</p><p>“You trying to burn holes in the desk?” You didn’t look up, your split eyebrow flicking up momentarily at the voice. </p><p>“JT, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Your monotone screamed anything but that his presence was remotely pleasant. His face was in your peripheral, so you lifted your head to finally look at him. </p><p>“I was just wondering if you wanted me to be your ref when you go into the ring with your workstation.” His crooked grin curled across his face and you did your best not to grin back. “I could always beat it up for you.” You wave your hand at him before clicking your laptop before it could fall asleep.</p><p>“I’m just…” You trail off. “Distracted.” You finally settle on. Fewer words are better. Your eyes flick back to your task at hand, one hand on your mouse and the other nestling your face in its palm. It was a clear translation of ‘Fuck off’ that you had practically mastered,  simply to ward off unwanted attention and scrutiny of your current mental state. Your fellow detective shrugged and moved on. You know that they’re both just trying to help in their own individual ways, but you can’t help but feel yourself shying away. You just wish you could sink into your seat and camouflage with the gross chair.</p><p>“It’s go time.” Dani’s voice is far away, your eyes glued to the screen but no movement coming to you. You hear your name and you blink away your dry eyes, looking up at Dani, JT just behind her holding your jacket.<br/>“We got a case?” You ask as you get up, snatching your coat and sliding it on, JT grunting in response.</p><p>“Yeah, and if you weren’t spacing out you would have had more info.” She walks ahead of you both, and JT gives you the basics of what they know. Murdered lady found in her apartment, seems like a high profile victim, not to mention with his own little quips about how he hopes she’s cute too. You playful swat him on the arm and mention Tally but jokingly agree.<br/>After the quick drive, you arrive on the scene and after talking to some officers you head up with JT to assess the body and surroundings. You were thrilled to finally have something to do, though not ideal that a poor woman had to die to get you out of the office. You probably should talk to your therapist about that.</p><p>Your ears perk and you hear Dani and Gil talking as they make their way to where you are in front of the body, JT behind you talking to Some of the forensic crew. With your nose buried in the case file, head swimming with ideas, you don’t notice the third set of footsteps.</p><p>“So she was waiting for someone, obviously, that pricey lingerie screams date night. But she got spooked, the 90 dollar shards of champagne glass is a good indication of that.” You jumpstart with your observations and look up to talk more directly to your colleagues, before meeting with a familiar set of clear eyes.</p><hr/><p>A rattling of chains against the door made one of your heavy eyelids flick open, looking blearily at the door. The other fluttered but couldn't open with how swollen it was.</p><p>His little canary liked to sing, as he would say.</p><p>Before you could sit up to accept your fate, you were blinded by the light filtering through the doorway. That wasn't right... He never came before night. You must have really pissed him off.</p><p>"We have someone alive over here! Where's the medic?"</p><p>Your head could barely lift, you felt so heavy, and there were so many figures in your vision. One got close, and you feel a warm hand smoothing something wet away on your cheeks. You had started to cry without even realizing it.</p><p>"My name is Agent Malcolm Bright, and you're safe.”</p><hr/><p>You jolt back into the present, dazed. Your hands are trembling. You feel the knots in your back acutely, the scar on your face itches, the bags under your eyes feel like they just deepened. What a terrible day it was for him to show up.</p><p>“M-Malcolm?"</p><p>His eyes widen. Recognition flashed across his face, mingled with surprise. That makes two of you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Canariculture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“No. Fired.” You respond for him before he even can. “You’d never leave willingly, and that’s why you’re here.”</p><p>	“Yes.” He nods, and his hands go behind his back, but you can see the trembling go up his arm. “Gil— Detective Arroyo asked me here.” He states, looking down to you, clearly trying to meet your eyes. You finally look up at him, settling on the space right above his eyes to be polite. “I know that look I saw earlier. I triggered a flashback, didn’t I?” He looks apologetic, but he’s dissecting you, eyes searching over your expression, which you’ve expertly schooled into one of calm indifference.</p><p>	“I would be happy to see you any other day, Mr. Bright. It’s just today--”</p><p>	“Is the day before the anniversary.” He finishes for you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Canaries have been kept as a cagebird in Europe from the 1470s to the present, now enjoying an international following. The terms canariculture and canaricultura have been used in French, Portuguese, Spanish and Italian respectively, to describe the keeping and breeding of canaries for some time.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You flick through the case file, hiding away in a corner of the kitchen as you go over details. After being thrown back into memories, you really wanted nothing more than to be alone with your investigation. Both JT and Dani had given you strange looks when you scampered off with an awkward smile and a tentative but quick hello to this new guy. You hope they weren’t giving him too hard of a time because of you. Seeing him today of all days was just difficult for you. You rubbed at the scar, a little more intense as your brow furrowed. Why’d he come back to New York of all places? This wasn’t an FBI case. Sure it was a rich vic, but why get involved? </p><p>	“I’m not working with the FBI anymore.” You skyrocket off your chair, grabbing onto the counter to steady yourself. You don’t look at the entrance of the kitchen. “Sorry— Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You squeeze your eyes closed as you remember him saying those exact words after surprising you when he visited you in the hospital. You waved it off with a laugh back then. A wheeze of air came out of you, your hand raising to cart through your hair. </p><p>	“Should I even ask how you know I was thinking that?” You murmur, your mouth dry. “So you quit?” You prod gently, still unable to look at him, even as you hear his shoes click closer. Leather. Good quality. You can smell his cologne on him. Elderflower and sandalwood make a mix so familiar it makes your throat tight. Your head lifts as your eyes dart up to his face before looking away. “No. Fired.” You respond for him before he even can. “You’d never leave willingly, and that’s why you’re here.”</p><p>	“Yes.” He nods, and his hands go behind his back, but you can see the trembling go up his arm. “Gil— Detective Arroyo asked me here.” He states, looking down to you, clearly trying to meet your eyes. You finally look up at him, settling on the space right above his eyes to be polite. “I know that look I saw earlier. I triggered a flashback, didn’t I?” He looks apologetic, but he’s dissecting you, eyes searching over your expression, which you’ve expertly schooled into one of calm indifference.</p><p>	“I would be happy to see you any other day, Mr. Bright. It’s just today--”</p><p>	“Is the day before the anniversary.” He finishes for you. His hands twist into the sides of his expensive coat. “I didn’t know you had been transferred to the NYPD.” It’s a question, a ‘Why?’ disguised as consolation. </p><p>	“Shortly after you had to move to the California case they ordered a transfer after my psychiatric care was completed.” You state simply, picking up the case file, antsy to get a move on. “I’ve been here for nearly three years. Caught some bad guys, got promoted to junior detective, seeing a therapist, all of that good stuff.” You try to add a little banter to lift the dire mood. “So you’re consulting on this case. Tell me about what you’ve found.” He looks like he wants to talk more, say something about the time before, but your tone is a quiet “Stop, Do Not Enter, We’re Not Touching It With A Ten Foot Pole” directed at him. </p><p>	“Well, Miss Hobbs was waiting for someone-- as you had already ascertained-- a sex partner namely.” He shifts to the details he's picked out. You scribble down some of the things he noticed in your little notepad, comparing it to what you’ve seen. You grimace at the facts piecing together. “As you’ve probably already noticed, this is the copycat of a case I know intimately.” You look up at him, glancing at Dani and JT watching you both like overprotective dingos. Gil comes up to you both. He looks at you and then at Malcolm, clearly debating whether to speak with you present. You choose for him and excuse yourself to go discuss details with your other colleagues. </p><p>	As soon as you walk up, JT is immediately checking you over and Dani is scrutinizing your expression. You sigh, pinching the top of your nose. </p><p>	“Look, before you go Good-Cop-Bad-Cop on me, I know Bright from when he worked in the FBI. Before I transferred here we worked together on a case.” You say simply. “He just spooked me, since we hadn’t seen each other in a long time.” You smile amicably, making sure to relax your face so it's less forced. It’s not even a lie-- There’s just more to the story. Way more. Not that they need to ever know that. You've kept your personal life pretty well separated from work, and least of all do you want your traumas to come out. </p><p>	JT is the first to speak, “Ok, whatever you say, Nuez.” His affectionate nickname makes you snort a little. Of course, he easily gave in. He walks past you, lightly patting your shoulder. “But just a heads up, I already don’t like him. Give me a reason to kick his dirty rich ass and I will gladly.” You roll your eyes, but pinch his side in admonishment. “¡Ay! Fine, fine-- I’ll keep my mitts to myself.” He huffs, walking away to where the forensic team are working to lift the body into a bag for transport. You take off your gloves, ignoring the razor-sharp gaze of Dani Powell. When she feels like something is wrong she most definitely won’t let it go. </p><p>	“Dani, you know a picture would last longer? You have to blink eventually.” You tease lightly, hoping it’ll throw her off the scent. She squints and you sigh. “Ask the question you wanna ask. I’m not under oath so I don’t have to say anything in return.”</p><p>	“Are you guys exes or something?” She states shortly, peering at you. You sputter, hand coming up to press into your temple.</p><p>	“No Dani, we are not exes. Of any sort for that matter. He just… was there during a really dark part of my life. He means no harm but--”</p><p>	“Seeing him is a reminder enough.” She supplies, a sympathetic smile flashing her pearly whites appearing on her face. You shake your head with a chuckle. </p><p>	“What’s with everyone finishing my sentences for me?” You breathe out, exasperated at being in a room full of incredibly perceptive people. “But I’ll be able to deal with it. Seeing him surprised me but I know he’ll be really helpful for the investigation.” She makes a noise of displeasure, radiant smile falling into a pursing of her painted lips. </p><p>	“He better be, because I second JT. I’m about ready to rock ‘em and sock 'em with this profiler guy.” She strides away, sliding the case file out of your hand as she passes you. You sigh and shake your head. Boy won't this be interesting.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I probably wont pump many chapters out as fast as I can like this but I'm in a groove today. Keeping the flow going!!! Can't wait for 4/20 so I can get stoned and watch the new season lol.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm obsessed with this show lmao. Thought I'd add to the slowly growing fanfics about this excellent show. I adore Michael Sheen but have to say, Tom Payne is *chefs kiss*. Idk how long I'll take this but I'm planning this to be multi chapters, going episode by episode. This will mainly be in the reader’s POV but occasionally I’ll switch over to Malcolm but it’ll be more 3rd person focused on his thoughts and perceptions. Might do some one-shots on the side. I'm trying to make the best out of this quarantine!!</p><p>You can call me V and I go by They/Them pronouns. </p><p>Drop a comment and lemme know what you think!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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